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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Email: stancyn@northrock.bm
Updated: Sun, 3 Dec 2017 05:23 pm

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Biography

The picture on this profile is by Pablo Picasso, 'The Aperitif'. I admire its boldness, the spirit of strong femininity. There is a poem in my Samples celebrating this realism. I am Canadian - Bermudian - British; of Irish and English descent (Norman actually); a teacher/tutor of Basic Maths, English and Music; a professional singer, an amateur actress, and a published poet; married with twin daughters. I have owned a Manufacturing/Retailing business in craftworks, and later, a Real Estate firm with both selling and letting departments. For many years I had responsibility for staffs up to 20 people while operating four shops simultaneously, and raising twins. It was challenging. I had to learn to be precise; waffling about was a potential killer of energy and effectiveness. But I tried never to lose the focus of that famous idea: I SEE YOU, applied to all persons within my personal sphere. I read widely, appreciate an extensive range of music and greatly enjoy stimulating conversation. I try never to close my mind. Above all, I offer unconditional respect to all persons and expect the same in return.

Samples

The Parting My heartbeats measure the night. How many weeks now has sleep mocked me? How many months? Late in the breathing hours when My blood’s rhythm drowns my mind, When I softly touch oblivion – My hands betray me. Through my fingertips pulses The feel of you; My treacherous hands throb down your body Until their aching need pervades my thighs – My heart – my soul. But I have nothing – Only the feel of you in my fingers. The Dream-footer HEY! FATSO! It was a spring-loving day. YEAH PORKY! So early the sun shone deeply warm. CHOPCHOPCHOP! Across the fields an easy wind sighed Fragrant with cherry blossoms. PIMPLEFACE! Her bare feet disturbed light eddies of dust. HEADLIIIGHTS! Around her thick long hair a red sash glowed. She felt very beautiful. Out of the village proper and down the country road She dream-footed heavily. She was fat – a porky – pimply – impossibly ridiculous – And impregnable; Behind those imperturbable eyes swelled an exotic bloom Ripe to unfold rare petals. She pushed a beat-up baby pram Carrying a peanut butter sandwich, two books, A cheap blanket won at a church fair, Eyeglasses wrapped in toilet paper, And a tambourine: Tin, with six clinky jingles And the ugly picture of a black-haired dancer, Spinning, In vulgar red and bold blue, A free, wild, whirling Gypsy. By the rusted wire gate that no one shut any more because The farmer kept his cows in another pasture, Over the oozy ruts Hop-skipping on the dry spots of the insecure furrows, Dragging the carriage, She dream-footed heavily, The jibes of the village street only a field away. Down to the creek Where dashing little waterfalls slowed To a single sinewy current in mid-stream And the banks lay in opaque water smoothness, Damp and glossy with long marsh grass, Where only the long-fingered weeping willow could point And the golden-eyed bloodroot see, Down to the creek She dream-footed lightly. Nobody to call: ‘HEY FATSO! CHOPCHOPCHOP! By the froggy sky-mirrored water she danced, Tapping her tambourine, Quivering with the nervous delight of silken sleeves Cool slipping down her arms; Dizzy from the swimming trees excitedly flying around, Her skirt a swirl of red, orange, green, blue and Yellow – a treasure, striped in every bright colour, Hanging to the ankles. As she jingled her jangles and joyously stamped Her naked feet, she sang, ‘Tra la la la la la la,’ The clear song of a shameless bird calling In the springtime. She flung herself panting to the cushiony earth And twined her fingers in the sweet grass. A violet brushed her nose. She smiled; it was so pretty, its open face so big. Closing her eyes, back she sank And dreamed. To Fellow Poets if my mind worked like your mind where is the joy in that because your ideas broaden my ideas you thrill me perhaps I would not say it exactly so but enough so to understand your thrust and pull to glory in your view of things all things I find the halo of humanity is receptivity. flashback Icelandic ash swept over Europe high altitude shroud scouring glass and metal all flights cancelled for six days the sky breathed naturally serenely blue washed with dimpled sunshine dappled clouds of long ago whimsy on lazy wind eye comfortable content to be weather vanes too soon jet trails scored the atmosphere criss-crossing tic-tac-toe skewed by schedules and altitudes heavy metal global bound wounding glorious sunsets like truculent children scribbling on ancient canvases modernity re-defining outscapes inscapes airspace refugees dribbled home Lines on Pablo Picasso’s ‘Aperitif’ slim flower head red pollen bold erect on scarlet stalk whispering scented smoke with green breath absinthe moist wormwood curled the perfumed whiff of rosy cunt pressed at bay damp between satin thighs more sleek than silken stockings garter strapped tantalizing roads to mossy fields ungated arm like a swan’s neck imperious conducting conversations her way pulling and pushing the lusts of men and women with her acrobatic words grinding mince out of reasoned philosophies she balances the tray surely the phallic bottle and the open-lipped glass upon her palm spread braced against one sturdy ham crossed over Girl in a Lake on heavy eyes the full moon cast gilded shadows swan path shafting seductive to the shore where she dropped her clothes and entered liquid light jewelled feet icy lustrous pale arms high uplifted now wide eyes of unwavering clarity enraptured dream-wooing dream-possessed she sank gleaming to her knees in the bitter midnight water open palms thrust upward - reaching - offering - beseeching – through her hands she felt sweet vines tumble upon white breasts mellow blossoms shining wetly dark eyes fixed the blinding moon enchanted ravished a black mass mounted the shuddering lake a nervous breeze whipped down the water invisible leaves slipped into gobbling waves drooling tongues licking snatching at her nakedness pushing silken thighs against hunched rocks aghast she reared from their sucking mouths stumbled back to shore where trembling uncontrollably she folded her clothes over her mind Hurricane In the lusty wind the cables whine From pole to pole bending the matchwood Wands by the throat fiercely. Riding at high mast the grim-eyed beetles Clamp their spiked boots deeper and check The safety lock on their leather girdles. With unnatural fingers they fumble for the Lurching wires that clash spitting sparks And lunge apart merrily hissing. Rude logic measures the steel, the wind, the wand, And knows one fateful gust will undo mathematics; One dancing wire with threaded jowls Could tear a man’s head from his fearful shoulders And send it flying into the gale Like a funny ball, Into the maws of the thrashing trees spewing Great cracking branches As dandelion hair. Frantically we bang the shutters together And throw the lawn furniture into the shed Higgledy-piggledy; Push the picnic table against the back door And try to grab the jumping clay pot that Leaps out of its macramé net upsetting the Surprised ivy on to the porch steps. Leave it! Get in! Get in! Cowering in the heart of its snapping bush One gorgeous red hibiscus not yet shredded Bleeds on my eye. Blindly I dash to its rescue, and pluck it free, Cupping it in my hands, gently. Back through the gale I jack-knife Cradling its unblemished beauty. I set it in the window – To shine For the men on the lines.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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Comments

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Darren J Beaney

Mon 13th Aug 2018 10:03

Hi Cynthia

Thanks for your recent positive comment on my poem.

In answer to your question - yes the writing course starts in 3 weeks, excited!

Cheers

DJB

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Colin Hill

Tue 7th Aug 2018 11:31

Hi Cynthia, that sounds interesting. Best send it to WoL's editor Mike Took:
news@writeoutloud.net
I look forward to reading and thanks for thinking of me. All the very best, Colin.

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Joe Williams

Sun 5th Aug 2018 21:40

Thanks Cynthia, glad you like the poem, and again it's nice to hear your thoughts on it 😃

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Taylor Crowshaw

Sun 5th Aug 2018 16:42

Thank you for your comments on You Held Me With Your Tears..
Always appreciated...😃

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Taylor Crowshaw

Wed 1st Aug 2018 15:31

Hi Cynthia,
Thank you for your comments..appreciate you stopping by. 😃
Taylor

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Ferris

Thu 5th Jul 2018 03:02

Hello Cynthia,

Thank you!

I have been cyber-present because I've had to do a bit of life instead of poeming, but I'm aiming to come back and as as sign of commitment I've written this comment and am about to upload some poems.

Seriously, thank you.

Are you well?

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Don Matthews

Mon 11th Jun 2018 00:26

Hi Cynthia,

Thankyou for your welcome on my profile. I am pleased to have found 'you lot'. Been feeling intellectually deprived down here. You'll have to forgive any 'putting-my-foot-in-it' comments I might make. 'I'm just a lowly poet trying to learn the ropes' ... and sometimes have trouble controlling my mind.

Thankyou for interacting

Don😎

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Ian Whiteley

Mon 28th May 2018 16:26

'taking the piss' Cynthia? I would never knowingly 'take the piss' 😉 this was an exercise in trying to create an archaic looking language to fit the archaic looking poem of a crows perspective on life. It was easily achieved using a phonetic translater - which uses emphasis on the words stresses - so reading it aloud is exactly the exercise needed to make it work - the 'translation' was more for those who simply tried to read it - rather than use the phonetics.
Glad you liked it
Ian

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Ian Whiteley

Wed 23rd May 2018 14:09

Hi Cynthia
yes - a sonnet - I like to write in traditional poetry forms now and again - it sooths the political beast in me 😃 glad you liked 'the beast beneath the beck' I appear to be in a fantasy/myths vein at the moment. Hope you're keeping well
Ian

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Martin Elder

Mon 14th May 2018 22:34

Hi Cynthia
I would love to be able to come to Sale on Tuesday but alas I have a prior commitment for that night which I can't wriggle out of. Sorry about that. Hopefully I will see you at the next word central if you are there.
Regards
Martin

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Ruby

Wed 4th Apr 2018 16:01

Thanks Cynthia for sparing your time to stop by my profile.
Your kind suggestion is very much appreciated!

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Tommy Carroll

Sun 1st Apr 2018 11:42

Cheers Cynthia. Thanks for your comments re "Plans on hold".
I use the capitalisation of the third person singular as not to weigh down the line with a period.
Try it.
;- )
Tommy
x

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Ian Whiteley

Sat 31st Mar 2018 15:05

many thanks for commenting on the rhinoceros piece Cynthia - I appreciate it
Ian

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Tommy Carroll

Tue 20th Mar 2018 12:28

Cynthia poetry is what you say it is, it does not have to rhyme nor make sense- North American natives' chant wordlessly to summon up thier gods. Tommy xx

ps keep up your excellent work. TC

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Frederick Kesner

Tue 6th Mar 2018 01:22

"Cynthia Buell Thomas

Mon 5th Mar 2018 10:37

This is so clever- deserved three readings before I was happy with my giving it proper attention.

Haven't seen you in ages. I hope all is well. Or am I wrong? I could have sworn I recognised the name from years ago. But your profile does not seem to bear this out."

Hello there,
Indeed it has been years!

First, the loss of the email with which my original blog (which is still floating around here at WOL!) was linked; hence the loss of access to said blog. Life then gets in the way of all sanity; and now an attempt at reconstruction and navigating the poetic waters again.

My gratitude for your kind words. Trusting all is well with you as well.

Feeling a little older and a bit more battered.

Such is life. :_)

See you round the site,
Frederick

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Tom

Fri 5th Jan 2018 20:24

Thank you so much for your comment on Moonlight, Cynthia. Always grateful for your thoughts. T.

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Helen Elliott

Tue 2nd Jan 2018 12:42

Hi Cynthia, just popping by to wish you a Happy New Year x

Sidra Shahid

Fri 29th Dec 2017 07:58

Thank you so so much for your generous comment on my profile Cynthia. It meant more to me than you can imagine 💕💫

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Nigel Astell

Wed 27th Dec 2017 14:27

Thanks Cynthia - - - hope you had a good Christmas.

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Artur Hulboj

Fri 22nd Dec 2017 21:24

Thank you for you comment on my poema , very kind word. I'm really grateful that you found enjoying it.

I read some of your poems they really beautiful.


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Tommy Carroll

Fri 22nd Dec 2017 01:21

I love "Thrall". Tommy

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Francine

Mon 18th Dec 2017 21:05

Hi Cynthia,

Ha ha - isn’t it?!
Thank you - wishing you the same. 😘

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Tom Harding

Tue 12th Dec 2017 23:06

Thanks Cynthia, seasons greetings to you too!

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Miranda Fegan

Sun 3rd Dec 2017 21:51

Hey Cynthia,

Thanks so much for commenting on Renewed (Soon). ^_^
It's a message to one's inner strength, but at the same time, it's a message from me to a personal friend who has gone through hell and is slowly regaining himself. Of course, like you mentioned, it can be a reminder to everyone that they can get through whatever and be stronger for it.

Always,
Mira

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raypool

Tue 28th Nov 2017 12:57

Hi Cynthia. So kind of you to comment on my photos ! The coloured one is the old git and the other is the young suavo aged 20. Hard to spot the difference I know! I thought it was moody and in fact an early selfie taken with a self timer(the predecessor of the umbilical version). Bless yer.

Ray

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keith jeffries

Mon 27th Nov 2017 16:46

Cynthia, you were right. I got it wrong. I appreciate all comments and corrections. I am grateful that you take time to review my work. With gratitude. Keith (Najd)

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ken eaton-dykes

Fri 24th Nov 2017 21:30

Many thanks Cynthia.

This one is an updated rehash previously blogged. Crudely exposing me to be an 100% none believer.

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Tommy Carroll

Sat 18th Nov 2017 17:36

Oh and bye the bye- here's no 90,000 and 90,000 more ××

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